The Second Floor Over
by LaurienCalafalas
Summary: Sherlock and Watson are back, but this time their new case is getting personal. When John's 'niece' get involved he doesn't know why, and then he figured out, maybe it's not her at all.
1. Chapter 1

"Yes John, just send the text would you?" Says Sherlock as he lays on the couch, "Yes yes... Would you just-" "Say this' What happened at the gardens? I must have blacked out." Sighing John Watson lays down the phone number typing quickly as he can, as Sherlock rattles off the rest of the information. "Have you got it?" John types quicker.

"Done." He sighs.

"Good, now send it." John does so sitting down in his chair.

"So what did I... Well who did I just send that- you have the case." John says as he looks at Sherlock, who is unzipping a bright pink bag,

"And so what if I do?" A knock comes at their door,

"Were you... Expecting any one?" Asks . Sherlock shakes his head, in the universal sign for 'no.' John stands,

"I'll get it then," and he takes his walking stick and begins his way over to the door, hand gripping the slick gold knob he opens the door. There stands there dark hair, dark eyes, tall frame, coat collar turned up against the wind.

"Are you Dr. Watson?" Says the lad.

"Yes, yes I am." Says John.

"I need to speak with you... And your partner." A look of confusion crosses John's face,

"Which... Which partner?"

"Sherlock Holmes, I need to speak with Sherlock Holmes."


	2. Chapter 2 Things are sorted,

Chapter 2 Things are settled, sort of

"Hello?" Says Sherlock, from his place on the sofa, "I don't believe we've met." He says glancing once towards the lad, and even with that glance, John already knew that Sherlock had all the information he needed on the lad, for now at least.

"I'm... Erm... Joseph?" He says

"Really? Joseph? Don't lie to me."

"Lenord," he bends to Sherlock's air of superiority.

"Oh," Sherlock scrunches his face up in disgust, "you'd better lie then." John covers a laugh with a cough.

"Well I... Erm ... It was a ... Family name?" Says the lad, as if this provides the explanation they need.

"No matter, you're here for something that much I know, but what?" The boy, Lenord, attempts to say something, but Sherlock shushes him,

"Shh, I'm thinking." The boy looks to Dr. Watson for explanation.

"He likes to guess."

"I NEVER GUESS!" Comes Sherlock's angry reprimand next to them.

"Fine, he likes to assume things about you, even if he's got some things wrong." The boy nods, eyes wide, as if he can't really understand the two men, nor their strange habits.

"You're limp, which is not very noticeable, was something you were born with, your military, perhaps at one point, but most likely a royal, or a high ranking officer. Correct me if I'm wrong but, you're divorced, or your wife died, but the more likely would be divorced because not all who lose their significant other take off their rings, so that means it must've been divorce, and your nervous flicking in your fingers means you must be uncomfortable, or you don't trust us, or both." Then Lenords phone rings, as a flush creeps up his neck,

"Let me take this would you?" He says glancing at the caller ID, the light reflecting off his glasses,

"Of course," says Sherlock, Mumbling a few rushed words the boy hangs up, shoulders tense,"Unhappy call?" Asks Sherlock,

"How... How did you know all of that? About me?" He says, as if he couldn't quite understand it.

"Simple. Your limp, was not the limp of someone who had a wound, they learn that it stops hurting one day, you've got the walk of someone who's learned to ignore, as to your status, you hold your self up right which states military or high ranking position and since you have the age to be in the military it is an option but the out spoken nature and supirieor stance you hold tells me that you weren't in the military or you weren't for long, as for the limp you obviously were wounded or were born with it which is more likely because you carry it as if its always been a natural burden and you didn't request a seat because you are used to dealing with the pain it causes you."

"who says I'm out spoken?"

"your rigid stance as you talked to your wife, and the protective glances you cast around the room, as if you were almost ready to explode with anger, perhaps something else?"

"Wait... How did you know I was on the line with my ex wife." Says Lenord cautiously.

"You had a call which you found unimportan at first, you quickly hit decline before you could hear the ring. The reflection in your glasses showed a first and last name proving there is no longer a strong relationship with short names in your contacts and could you get me a cup of tea while you meet up with her ? " The man stares at Sherlock,

"when am I going out for tea?"

"The text, the one you just got? The reflection obviously and if you flip it round in your mind you See that the text read meet me at Carlie's and that's a small tea shop just down the road where many couples meet, so ie your ex wife." Sherlock says as if its perfectly normal to watch someone's personal texts.

"That's amazing,"

"Don't talk." Sherlock says.

"Why not?"

"I'm thinking, and trying to figure out why your ex wife would want to see you again, unless your relationship wasnt really over, in which case I don't see the connection to me and Watson, oh God I don't understand what you need, Damn it, why are you here?" Sherlock says, slightly frustrated he couldn't think of a reasonable guess, but then again he never guessed.

"Well you see, my ... My ex wife, her mum was killed in a car accident, like any normal one, but her sister was in the car, an adopted one, whose family had left her, or lost her." Says Lenord, John looks slightly queasy, as if he almost remembers who this is. "She was in the car, but when it was searched only two bodies were found, the cabbie, and Elizabeth, not the other driver or the girl."

"What's-what's her name?" Says John. "The girl I mean, what did you call her?" Lenord looks up,

"she said her name was Aubrey, " Lenord looks at John "why?"

"Simply, for research..." He trails off, thinking about something, or someone else. Sherlock shakes Lenords hand,

"Nice to meet you, now have a nice day, we will be in touch. " and Sherlock practically shoves him out the door. Upon returning up stairs, he walks over to John, "what is it?"

"What is what?"

"The thing you're thinking about, what is it?"

"Oh that thing?"

"Yes. What is it?"

"Aubrey, Sherlock don't you recognize the name? Aubrey, the lost child on the papers? That's Harriot's daughter, that's my niece."

**oooh plot twist! I'm really horrid aren't I? Terribly sorry about that, but you'll review yes? And you'll say that you don hate me forever because of this right? Oh I knew that was too much to hope for. Ah well, next chapter soon! Review! Lots of love to you all, -E**


	3. Chapter 3 Rain and Wind

Chapter 3

"What are you doing Sherlock?" Asks Mrs. Hudson, as she sees Sherlock doing a dangerous, and complicated board game.

"Though the difference in the spelling may be there, this game should cure Bordem should it not?" Sherlock sighs heavily.

"Well I've no idea, I've no time to play such foolish games, and neither have you, haven't you a case?" Sherlock rolls his dark brown eyes,

"What are you on about Mrs. Hudson?"

"Well," she says leaning on the back of the arm chair,

"you could start by looking for that lovely lady that Dr. Watson is so torn up about." Waving his hand in the air dismissively Sherlock turns back to his knife covered table, and gun covered sofa.

"I already know where she is." Hands placed firmly on her hips Mrs. Hudson glares at Sherlock, "

Well aren't you going to save her?"

"Oh no," Sherlock says, "of course not. Why would I do that? She's perfectly safe, and any how, you never apraoch a subject, you let them come to you."

"Something your mum taught you I'm sure?" Says Mrs. Hudson.

"No," says Sherlock not even glancing at her, "the police taught me that one. Oh! That'll be the door," he says, and sure enough not a few seconds later the door bell jangles.

"Oh what's the matter with you Sherlock, I'm not your house keeper,"

"But you could be the dear that you are and get the door couldn't you?"

"I'm sure I could, " she says, nodding her head slightly "but that's not my job."

"Just this once," says Sherlock, hands in a praying position,

"Fine, but no more!" She says, waddling away, mumbling under her breath.

"Watson! Get the hell down here!" Yells Sherlock up the stair, soon enough the door shuts and the sound of footsteps can be heard,

"What's going on?" Calls John only halfway down the stair. But as he reaches the bottom and sees the piles of Sherlock's collections, of guns and knives he looks to his flat mate,

"What the hell are you doing?"

"Bored." Says Sherlock as if that alone explained his life, (which we all know very well may.)

"Then what have you yelled at me for? I was having a perfectly decent conversation with my sister until you busted it up."

"It wasn't decent for one, I heard you pacing, you only pace when you're upset, I.E. it wasn't a pleasant conversation. But that doesn't matter, nor does that fact that you look absolutely terrible today,"

"Excuse me?-"

"Don't bother about it, just brush your hair would you?"

"Brush my-"

"I've a visitor down stairs and I highly reccomend that you keep up the search for your niece, but this time, try calling her phone." he hands John a slip of paper with numbers scrawled on it.

"erm, thanks?"

"Now go!" Shoo's Sherlock, practically pushing John back up the stairs "alright alright, you needn't shove," he grouses at Sherlock.

"Go then," Sherlock says, then he walks Down the stairs, towards the front door,

"Hello?" Says Mrs. Hudson to the shadowed figure in the door way, as Sherlock steps forward, he can see the girl, hair sopping wet, coat drenched, plaid boarding school skirt, slightly ruffled. Lips pursed and eyes squinted against the howling wind and rain,

"I'm here to see a 'Sherlock Holmes'." She says, noticing Sherlock's prescence she looks up,

"Sherlock Holmes," he says, extending his hand,

"Aubrey, I think I'm supposed to be dead." Smiling at her and offering her a hand to follow him inside,

"Come along inside, " he says, "I've a need to talk with you." And under his breath so she could hardly hear him he mumbles, "but I'm not the only one," And despite the heavy rain and howlin wind, his words were not lost, she heard them, but she didn't show it, she wasn't that dumb. She knew what she was supposed to do, she wasn't who her uncle had known a long time ago, time passes, people change. Dreams die.

I am immensely sorry if this was a bad chapter!

I've yet to get any reviews on this, so please, please, please review, nothing means more to me than knowing that you all care for the story!

thank you lots,

got to run and write up an essay, happy weekend !

-E


	4. Chapter 4 Degas

Chapter 4

It wasn't till late on Saturday morning that John figured out there was someone else in the flat. It wasn't Mrs. Hudson, she had gone to get the shopping, and Sherlock had been sitting in the living room for hours.

This presence was too small, and quiet, and frightfully fragile.

Walking downstairs to Sherlock, who still lay thinking in the same spot he had been when John had left him.

"Sherlock," John says, "did Mrs. Hudson sell out the basement flat? " it was the only plausible option, other than Mrs. Hudson's grandchildren coming to visit.

"Sort of," says Sherlock, not even bothering to look up,

"Want to elaborate ?"

"Not particularly. " he says, lazily. "Why don't you go down and find out for yourself."

John nods.

"Alright, I'll go. Erm... Be back in a bit then... " before he closes the door fully he pops his head back into the room, "Mind giving me a name to call them by?"

Sherlock closes his eyes, laughing lightly at John.

"I'm afraid you're going to be on your own for that."

John grimaces, "Fine." he closes the door behind him, moving quietly down the stairs, "Mrs. Hudson?" he calls out, as if he were looking for her, which in truth, he wasn't. But he gave whoever the new tenant was, a head start on him. "Mrs. Hudson?" he calls again, walking carefully down the stairs and towards the old basement door. Knocking quickly he grabs the knob, "Mrs. Hudson are you down in the basement ?" he turns the rusty metal handle, opening the door, wooden frame creaking, old hinges squeaking in protest.

But silence ensues, not a single sound responds to John's calls. The air smells of dust and damp mold, and it has the feeling as if it has laid untouched for years. "Mrs. Hudson?" John says into the darkness. He reaches the bottom of the stair, and the cold light from the window, carefully streaming through the glass.

But instead of Mrs. Hudson, or no one at all, what John sees is a girl.

Long, dark, red-brown curls lay down her back. Her small upper body clad in a large brown, woolen sweater, and her legs in jeans. Shoes lay on the floor beside her bed, but her feet remain out of them and sit curled at the toes, on her bed, as she sits Indian style, silent as the grave. Motionless as the night.

"Hello," John takes one careful step forward, "I'm your upstairs neighbor... John Watson."

"Good day, _Dr._ Watson." she says, not even turning to acknowledge him.

He stands watching her carefully, the addition of the word 'doctor' not lost on him.

"I'm afraid I don't know _your_ name." John says, daring to step forward a few more inches. Trying to look around the hair that fell like a curtain around the girl's face.

Suddenly she looks up at him, her startling blue eyes, locking on his, an air of something clinging all round her, as if she knew she didn't belong in this basement, but somewhere _greater_. John takes a step back, mainly from surprise. Head tilted to the side she smiles slightly and says,  
"I'm Aubrey."

"You..." John was for the first time in his life, lost for words.

Her eyes look expectantly back at him,  
"Yes?"

John clears his throat.

"You look just like your Mum."

Glancing away from him she swallows hard,

"I wouldn't know that now would I?" she looks back up, her eyes, stormy grey. Raising her chin she looks away again, eyes staying glued to the painting that sat directly in front of her. Which, John realizes, was what had her captivated when he had first walked in.

"That's a... wonderful piece." John says staring at the painting as well, looking to the intricate strokes of the brush, making him almost believe that the faded ballerina was standing before him.

"Too bad that it's a fake." she says standing up and slipping her small feet into her shoes, and beginning her walk up the stairs.

"What- but-.." John stutters out "You haven't even touched it, or looked at it closely," he says.

She smiles,

"Everyone knows that Edgar Degas, always signed in the lower left hand corner, never the right." she smiles, almost in pity to him, "Or _almost _ everyone."

She turns, ringlets bouncing as she walks up the stairs and away from john,

"And the fourth ballerina to the back has an initial within the hem of her skirt. NC." she walks away, the door creaking as she leaves. John glances at the painting, and sighs out the words he'd been hoping were a lie,

"She's right," he rolls his eyes slightly but runs up stairs after her, Sherlock didn't know who he had in this house, because it certainly wasn't his niece... but if it wasn't Aubrey... who was it?

**How is it? I'm sorry it's taken so long to upload, my eyes are getting all wacked up and I couldnt't type, but it was all written down, I just had to take hours at a time to type it out and check punctuation and spelling. **

**Forgive me?**

**I absolutely love Degas don't you? Favorite paintings in the world, because the ballerinas are in my room, and have been since I was tiny, and I do loads of Ballet and I absolutely love it, anyway**

**PLEASE, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASEPLEASEPLEASE****_PLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASE _****review, **

**Thanks a million! **

**-E**


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

As John gets upstairs, he sees Sherlock sitting at his desk, humming slightly and to himself. But the harmonizing notes come from the kitchen where the young girl still stands.

Leaning over to Sherlock John whispers harshly,

"She's not my niece."

Sherlock smiles,

"I'm not that dense, it's plain enough to see that."

John glares at him,

"Do you have any ideas on who she may be?" He whispers still,

"Oh yes, about 12."

He is interuppted by a call from the kitchen,

"Do you have any tea ?"

"9."

"I've got it!"

Then John turns his icy stare back to Sherlock, walking into the room she sets a tray of tea and warm biscuts before the two.

"4." Says Sherlock,

"Oh your just now learning to count? It's primary school! Just like the solar system!" John spits out as if they'd been feuding.

"If I don't need it, I don't keep it. Rubbish the lot of it."

John rolls his eyes, drinking his tea and nudging Sherlock ever so slightly to get his attention.

"She left..."

"She went down to Mrs. Hudson's flat,"

"What's her real name?"

"How should I know? "

"I only suspected..."

"Well don't suspect anything. I don't know, call for a pet and see if she turns at that name!" Sherlock throws his hands in the air, "just do something." he grabs his coat and walks out.

"Where are you going?!" John calls, the door slamming shut is his only response.

"Fine. Fine, we'll do it your way." Looking around the flat, and moving this and that around, he calls out random names since he knows it will gain the attention of both women.

"Kelly!" He yells to the couch "Erica?" He says to the chimney. "Bonetta!" He says to the desk, "Jenny, " to the pen.

"Sandra?" He calls to the head in the kitchen.

"What are you doing Dr. Watson ? " Mrs. Hudson queries from below.

"Just looking!" He calls back.

"For what?" She calls back.

"Erm... It's rather like an attendance sheet."

"Oh... Well Aubrey may come up to keep an eye on you, goodness knows she'll need to use two."

John smiles,

"I see you'll be keeping watch over me Mrs. Hudson, whether you be shopping or listening, you'll always have a word in edgewise eh?" He laughs at her, even though it was more of a reference to the summer holiday previous, when Mrs. Hudson hadn't let John or Sherlock from her sights. This was John's way of saying, 'Aubrey isn't safe... Not yet, keep careful watch.'

And Mrs. Hudson knew exactly what he meant.

"Alright then love, all be back in a jiff!" And then she was gone, leaving the girl, and John alone in the house.

A silence fell between them. Not the good silence, like that of when you're sleeping, but the bad kind, like when you are on a date and you hardly know the person.

"Charlotte!" He calls, "Rosalind? " none of these seems to give her a response. She smiles, laughing at him.

"What are you doing ? You look like a nutter."

"I probably am." He mumbles. "It's a sort of experiment.. That Sherlock thought of... For mice? To see what kind of names they respond to. And when we lost our cat, it had so many different things it responded to, we have a thousand different names we're looking through. " she smiles sympathetic.

"What's the cat look like?"

"Red brown fur. Bright blue eyes."

Shaking her head she smiles, "you're a good man doctor Watson, maybe you've got a few flaws but your a good man." She stands, John watches her carefully.

She turns to walk away, as if she has no more interest in him. But she seems troubled, the air around her seems to tremble ever do slightly as if she were at war with herself. John knew what that could to do a person, he had, had it happen many times to him.

But then she looks back for a moment.

"Finely."

"What?"

"The name," she struggles to get out, "try Finely. I think you'll find all you need to know about your 'cat.'" She turns away, walking back downstairs, to her room, he assumes.

He pulls out his cell phone.

"I've got it sherlock. "

"Got what?"

"I've got a name."

alright, go ahead and kill me. That was by Farr the shortest, lamest, and worst chapter I've ever written.

Please tell me it was terrible and give me incentive to write the rest better. My eyes are still messed up. It hurts to read. I'm sorry I didn't proof this.

-E


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